


Antivan Problems Require Antivan Solutions

by notyourparadigm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assassination, Brutal Murder, Consensual Non-Consent, First Person, I guess it's just fucky in general judge me if you want, I suppose, M/M, Murder, Orgasm Denial, Sexual Violence, Sort Of, all that jazz, as a form of punishment, it's all dialogue no exposition, just sexual content and murder, no ships, posing as a servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/pseuds/notyourparadigm
Summary: Zevran recounts a particularly upsetting but satisfying contract with the Crows, involving a horrid nobleman with a preference for elven servants, and a wife who wanted to see him eliminated in a very particular manner.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Antivan Problems Require Antivan Solutions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different style, as I normally abhor first-person fics, but this is intended to be read as Zevran telling a story, perhaps to the Warden, so... first person only. Also, is this supposed to be sexy? Not really. But apparently I enjoy reading and writing horrible things, so here we are.

"You know, in many ways, ordering an assassination on someone is quite a personal matter. A great honour, really— someone feels  _ so strongly _ about you that they are willing to part with outrageous amounts of coin to see you dead. Not to mention the risk to their social standing, if it were revealed what they were plotting. When one feels so strongly about another person, it often becomes a matter of delivering a message as well. Typically not to the victim— they have a rather short time to appreciate it— but to others. Others who might repeat their mistakes, or others who seemed to misunderstand their roles in the world. A message is so much more striking when written in blood, no? 

“It is a simple enough thing to slip poison into a wandering wine glass, or to slit a sleeping throat under the cover of darkness… but it's all been done before. In Antiva, such a death is hardly worth the breath to gossip about. While the Crows officially guarantee nothing but death, it doesn't mean that some of us aren't willing to go to more effort for the promise of some extra coin under the table. After all, we don't directly get paid for our services unless a customer feels generous enough to leave a tip. Help them fulfil their most heinous dreams of murder and revenge, and usually they are happy to part with a few sovereigns for your troubles. 

"One noble lady had a personal matter she wanted to have settled in a very particular matter. Rumours of her husband's unfaithfulness were truly the least of her issues with the man, but in many ways it was the final straw… and the final piece to her plan. For you see, she oversaw all the business of their household: held pretty little dinners with other lords and ladies, keeping all their contacts in good graces— I don't know, rich people trivialities. Her husband, meanwhile, rarely left the comfort of his study save to eat, sleep, and to head to the cellar to open another cask of aged wine. Apparently he had never much taken to domestic life, and spent all his days pouring over old journals, dreaming of his great adventures and glory in battle. Or so he would tell you. His wife sang another story, of how he helped win one petty squabble over farmland, and was raised to lordship as "thanks" for his service. But the title was more a gift of pity, as the battle cost him one of his legs. One glancing blow from a great sword, and forever afterward he was doomed to walk with cane or crutch. I find it hard to pity a man who got to live the rest of his days sitting upon velvet cushions, but he sure pitied himself enough without my help. 

“Her ladyship was another story. She had all the ambition her dear husband lacked, and then some. Her marriage to him was made through the eyes of an opportunist, who saw a freshly stylized Lord as her best chance at raising herself politically. And she knew well how to play her cards, taking their name from novelty to well-respected in only a few short years, complete with allies and affluence to match. But sadly, all that affluence was, legally, owned by her husband. I do not know if killing her husband was the plan all along — perhaps she hoped he could just be a facade to her own plans, a pretty face for the public eye. 

“Alas, it seemed incompetency and laziness was one thing, but the accusations of him taking a fancy to all their servants over her was another matter. One not so easily forgotten. Even in Antiva, the nobles prefer to keep their dirty secrets… well, secret. And his lordship was not too good at keeping secrets. Half the city was whispering of his preference for servants, and — of course — this meant whispers of his poor wife as well. That simply would not do. No one would respect their name and power while they joked about them into their cups at dinner. 

“But where others would hire a Crow, see their husband choke on some spoiled grapes, and be done with it, her ladyship saw an opportunity. Many knew that she was the true authority of the couple, so a suspicious death would quickly spread to rumours of a vengeful, love-spurned wife seeking to gain power for herself. Which, while rather accurate, was not the image she needed. However, her husband's recent transgressions left her an opportunity to rid herself of him, while leaving herself free of suspicion. Or, at least, a little  _ less _ suspicious. She had a rather specific plan in mind, both to denounce her husband, as well as to ensure he died suffering a sufficient amount for her own pleasure. When she requested a Crow with specific appearance and… talents, it made it rather obvious what her plan was. It seemed her husband had taken a particular liking to the elves in their service, and knew that he would only too readily succumb to one with a face as gorgeous as mine. I was eager to test my skills on a more fascinating mark, especially with the wealth she promised in return.

“So it came to be that I was welcomed into their fine estate as the newest servant to replace the sudden influx of those vanishing without a word. Most of the other servants were elves too— those who remained were either the most resilient, or the most broken still, too afraid to speak out of fear of returning to the Alienage. I know I should pity them, but... when I see what they've relegated themselves to, so willingly, I can’t help but wonder if we are truly of the same kin. And it was no doubt, they wondered the same. They weren't idiots. They knew I was no servant, and there are only a few reasons one would hire a “servant" who would not be chopping vegetables or scrubbing chamber pots. 

“Most of them, I think, were afraid of me— perhaps fearful that I was there for them? I don't think I've met a noble rich enough to hire the Crows to deal with mere servants, but I suppose there is a first for everything. At least one of them bothered to acknowledge me— a sweet girl, with eyes darker than her kind smile deserved. She was afraid, too, but less afraid of me than she was afraid of his Lordship. She warned me about him, what he was, how so many others before me had run away, how she would have done the same if she knew where she could go. 

“Most days I don't feel much about my job. I do what I'm told and get paid, just like everyone else. But sometimes I can't help but feel like assassins do more good for this world than some people realize. There are some men who deserve the deaths wished upon them. We are merely the ones who grant such wishes. 

"So of course, in my exciting time undercover, it became my job to seek the attention of his Lordship somehow. I had my new friend to help me with that, although I think she intended to tell me what  _ not  _ to do, and save me from his clutches. Growing up in a whorehouse also had its lessons to share, of course. It didn't take long, playing the part of the poor, shy elf before I saw how his eyes would linger on me as I passed in the halls, or how he'd shift in his seat when I came to clear dishes after his meals. Dangle fresh meat in front of a rabid hound, and of course he'll start drooling. 

"After a couple of days of piquing his… appetite, I saw the opportunity for his final meal. One of the senior servants would bring him cheese and grapes to take in his study every night, and so I needed only convince him to give me the honour. At first he took issue with the idea, not wanting to be punished for someone else messing up his job — although how one could mess up walking into a room and delivering a plate of food, I don't understand. But once I insisted it was a good idea, I think he finally understood why I was there. He got this queer look on his face, a mix of relief and horror, before letting me take the plate. I half expected him to protest, and half expected him to thank me in advance, but all he ended up saying was:  _ 'Do what you will.' _

"When I came to the study, his Lordship was slumped back in his chair. The man always slumped when sitting, and he was almost always sitting. He only had one candle burning next to him, so it was difficult to see all the books he had tossed about the floor. It was like walking around a field of bear traps to get to him, and I made sure to take my time too, to make sure he was watching. Sure enough, his eyes never went to the plate as I set it down, and asked, meek as I could manage, 'Is there anything else I can do for you, milord?'

"He looked me up and down, as if appraising a horse for sale. 'You're new,' he said. 'Where's the other one?' Unsurprising, that he never bothered to learn their names. I apologized profusely, offered to fetch the other servant, but he snorted. Said he never liked him much anyways. Something about his age, how his wife should get rid of all the "old" ones. 

“'You can teach them their place when they're young,’ he said. ‘I take it  _ you _ still need to learn your place. You still have far too much confidence in the way you walk. Do you know who I am? How many people I've killed?' 

“An amusing question, considering, but of course I could not answer truthfully. He was not a large man for a human, which is why I think he had such a fondness for the elves — smaller bodies that made it easier for him to feel big. He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me towards him, forcing me to look into his eyes, demanding I answer him.

"'No, milord.' I replied, trying to sound afraid. I like to think I can be a good actor when need be. A little role-play can be fun in work and play. But perhaps I was a little too confident, or overplayed the role, because he didn't seem to like that answer. He slapped me across the face with the back of his hand, and gave a pleased huff at my response. Or, to be more precise, my  _ lack  _ of response. 

“'Not a peep,' he noted. "You're no meek serving boy. What  _ are _ you then, hmm? Has my wife resorted to hiring whores to spite me? Is she trying to send me a message? Threaten me with rumours and slander? Spiteful woman. As if I care what she or any gossip thinks.' 

"I should credit him for at least seeing through my disguise, but it was rather obvious the man thought about little but himself— that, or he was incredibly stupid. He knew his wife hated him, but never seemed to suspect how deep that hatred would go. Any half witted fool should have seen an assassin in that room, but all he saw was what he wanted to see, and he was blind with that want. So he saw a whore, ripe for the plucking. 

“He shoved me onto the floor, deaf to the sound of the blade hidden on my leg hitting the ground. He loosened his britches and started stroking himself without a care for subtlety or privacy— the door to the study was wide open, and anyone passing by hearing the noises would only need to look through the doorway to see. Not ideal for me. Her ladyship wanted to send a message, but I was now past the point of no return for the job. If anyone were to interrupt, it would be time for a quick bloodbath, and an even quicker escape. And I had already wasted so much time already in hopes of the sovereigns promised me for the special treatment. I had to be quick with him if this was to go as planned. 

"Perhaps if it were another target, I could have found the situation more enjoyable. While I'd have preferred the roles reversed, there's something undeniably exciting about the way you can make another man moan and whimper with delight using nothing but your mouth. But he tasted foul on my tongue. Perhaps because he really was a foul man. Even with my goal in mind, the promise of sovereigns and justice for those he abused I found it difficult to continue. 

“He began to grow impatient. He grasped at my hair and thrust hard into my mouth, half angry and half laughing, asking what kind of whore can't even suck someone off properly. He really could  _ not _ shut up the entire time. Even as he clawed wildly for more purchase in my mouth, he was lecturing me— speaking of the grand days of yore, when one could simply buy a slave when the old ones got bored, and how elves were the perfect slave. Small, weak, submissive, unable to live without serving man. 

“‘You're parasites, that's all you are.’ I believe he said. ‘Blood sucking parasites. Sucks away whatever it can get from a better man. Show me how a parasite sucks. Go on.  _ Suck _ .'

"I obliged the disgusting man's request. I had to. It was part of her ladyship's plan. I swear the man's goal was to bruise my throat. On and on he went— how much I wanted to choke  _ his _ throat, for every other word was something about “damn knife-ears” or “fucking leeches"... all rather tiresome things, you can imagine. But his ramblings grew shorter, until he was more gasps than words, and his body began to seize with the approach of his climax. Finally,  _ my _ turn for fun. 

"His expression was all but furious as I tore my mouth free, pinning down his abdomen just as he was about to burst. I caught his hands before they moved to replace the simulation I had taken away, and  _ oh _ , how he whimpered — I can still hear it. Like a hushed scream, if you can imagine it, with all the frustration of a scream and none of the release. Which is exactly what he got. His poor length was spent, his seed spilled onto his lap and thankfully nowhere near my mouth, but still erect and utterly miserable. I have never seen such a pathetic cock, but his Lordship earned every inch of it. Well, what few inches he had. 

"I wish we had a little more time and privacy to work with— perhaps with him gagged and tied. I owed him a lecture for all the garbage he spat at me. But he raised his voice with such anger, shouting at me for what I had done; I knew that there would be spectators soon. It was time for the grand finale, and her Ladyship wanted witnesses. So, with his cock at my disposal, I used my blade to free it from his body. A rather messy affair — well, unsurprisingly, I suppose. All that blood was still waiting to be released. I stuffed the fleshy mess into his mouth, partially at her Ladyship's request, and partially to stop his bleating and squealing. If her Ladyship had her way, that would have been how I left him to be found by the servants. But men have survived stranger things, and the Crows would not be forgiving if I returned and he was somehow still alive. So before I parted, I left him with two gifts. First was a word of advice— ‘Next time, make sure your wife hires whores to suck you off, not assassins.’ Second was my blade, buried in his chest. 

“By the time he had stopped squirming and struggling against his death, there were four servants in the doorway. One poor woman was retching up onto the floor, and another ran off shouting for help, but the other two stood frozen. They did not move to stop me as I made my exit, and I had half a mind to congratulate them on the occasion, but I thought better of it. The other servants might take it as proof of affiliation, and work to see them fired or worse. Such was the way of servant life– there is no ladder to climb, only a hole of progressively lower status. Some would take any chance to throw another down if it meant securing what little comfort they had. 

"So I left the estate and city, leaving behind the bloody mess of a man, killed in a fit of rage by a servant who refused his sexual advances. The scandal was surely hard on her poor ladyship, having such vile things occur to her husband, in her house. But such scandal fades far more quickly than accusations of murder, and she was now free to live her life without that letch of a man weighing her down.

“It was one of my more grisly jobs, to be sure, but it makes for a good story, no?"


End file.
